


Dangerous

by KatrinaRice



Series: BottomErwinWeek 2020 [7]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, RussianMike, bottomerwinweek, bottomerwinweek2020, mafia, mafia member Mike, tattoo artist Erwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatrinaRice/pseuds/KatrinaRice
Summary: Michail Sacharow is a quiet man. But despite his tranquil nature the Russian mafia member is dangerous. Maybe that’s why Erwin feels so drawn to him?
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Mike Zacharias
Series: BottomErwinWeek 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786141
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	Dangerous

“Boris is already here,” Hange informs Erwin as he enters his tattoo shop way past their regular opening hours. But there is nothing regular about that particular client. Because Boris Fjodorow isn’t just a client. He’s way more. A gangster, Aleksandr Baranow’s right hand man, top two of the Russian mafia network ruling over the underworld of Erwin’s hometown, a German metropolis.

“Bastard’s ten minutes too early,” Erwin remarks, getting rid of his leather jacket calmly. Hange just grins at that, their eyes glimmering in that mischievous way that means only one thing: trouble. “What?” Erwin snaps, sighing, feeling pissed off already.

“Nothing…” the piercer replies, voice coming out in a teasing sing-song, making Erwin roll his eyes.

“Great,” the blond huffs out and Hange wiggles their eyebrows in an almost obscene and way over the top kind of way. Only then Erwin spots a new ornament on his employee’s and close friend’s already highly pierced face.

“Did you… Is this is a freaking eyelid piercing?”

“Do you like it?” Hange almost screams out, way too excited, rushing closer to their boss, who shouldn’t be surprised about this. And yet, Erwin is.

“Did Moblit do it?” he wants to know looking at the decently done but still very rare and extreme type of piercing. Hange is nodding, grinning widely, the little shiny studs of their cheek piercings flashing.

“Two weeks ago.” When Erwin was on vacation, and still would be, if Boris hadn’t requested his presence.

“Good work,” Erwin admits, glad he listened to Hange who had spoken highly of the young man and persuaded Erwin to hire Moblit as an apprentice.

“He’ll be so thrilled when I tell him tonight!”

Erwin cocks a brow, lips pulling into a grin. “So, you really _are_ fucking your subordinate, huh?”

“He’s _your_ subordinate, darling,” Hange purrs, “for me he’s just a colleague. And thank fuck I have a chilled out boss, who doesn’t have anything against his employees fucking each other. Huh?”

Erwin chuckles. “Your boss sounds like a cool guy.”

“He is and he could _totally_ pull off an eyelid piercing, too,” Hange says, making Erwin shake his head at the attempt of persuasion.

“Go pester Moblit about getting more piercings,” he stops his friend with a wave of his hand, “I have enough.”

“Oh, but I haven’t done a piercing on you for so long!” Hange complains, making Erwin scoff.

“Honey, you pierced my dick just half a year ago,” he reminds them and Hange releases a pleased sigh. His friend has also pierced his eyebrow, his bottom lip, his right nipple, his tongue, has given him a septum and a bridge.

“We should totally do your balls, too!”

“If I still have any by the end of the day – Boris is waiting for me and Moblit is probably waiting for you,” Erwin remarks, smirking, “so you better get the fuck out now and let me do my work.”

“Of course, boss!” Hange replies energetically, giving him a playful salute before rushing out of their tattoo and piercing shop.

Erwin sighs and moves towards one of the secluded rooms, the biggest one, in fact. The secret room no other customers ever see. It’s marked as a private space, reserved for staff, but it isn’t. It’s the room Erwin uses for the Russians only. He’s been doing this for almost twenty years now, working for the mafia. Kind of.

He was 18 when he started his career as a tattoo artist. Officially. Because off the record he’s been putting artworks of all different kinds onto human skin since he was merely 13 years old, thanks to his neighbour Kenny Ackerman, who discovered Erwin’s talent and gave him his first tattoo machine, let the blond kid practice on his own skin – which led to Erwin tattooing a vast amount of kids, youngsters and ex-prisoners of his neighbourhood, most of them acquaintances of Kenny, illegally on the backyard of their building.

He became famous quite quickly and once he reached the age of 18, lots of prominent tattoo shops were fighting over him. Erwin chose to stay with Kenny and took over the Ackerman’s shop within just a year. He also took over the Russians. Or rather, the Russians _allowed_ him to take them over, chose him in fact, when he started working at the shop and Boris saw what the young Smith was able to create.

Erwin has no freaking idea since when tattoos have played an important role in the underworld, _if_ they play a role at all for other clans, mobs, gangs. He only knows this: Whenever one of Baranow’s important underlings fulfils a great deed – like blowing up a place of a rivalling group, stealing a huge amount of money or slaughtering an enemy – they get ‘rewarded’ with a tattoo, so that their own body becomes a witness of their crimes, a statement of pride, an impressive sight for other members, a motivational symbol. A token of respect.

And Erwin is the one who creates those tokens, according to Baranow’s orders, puts them onto the skin of the gangster’s subordinates. Because Baranow pays him a shit ton of money for his work and his discretion. And also, Baranow doesn’t kill him – because it’s not like Erwin really had a choice when Kenny introduced him to Boris and the man introduced him to his boss. Erwin had been chosen, and here he is. Alive and breathing because he agreed to become one of Baranow’s tools.

And then again, Erwin wouldn’t have said no, because of the shit ton of money...

“Boris, good to see you,” he greets the man, sitting on his desk, drinking his vodka, stored here for the shady appointments, smoking in the room, blatantly ignoring the ‘no smoking’ policy. But Erwin lets him.

“Did you enjoy your vacation?” the bulky man in his late 40s huffs out, laughing in an obscene kind of way, knowing well Erwin would still be in Bali enjoying the sea, the alcohol, the quiet, the sex with all the beautiful men frequenting the gay beach bars along with him.

Erwin grins grimly. “It was okay,” he lies and Boris laughs.

“Michail,” the man then suddenly addresses Baranow’s underling whom Erwin is supposed to tattoo tonight – a big bear baring its massive teeth spread all across the man’s back. A reward for a brutal murder of a big enemy. “Call me when you’re done.”

With this, Boris waltzes out of the room, his mobile phone already pressed to his hear, mumbling some aggressive sounding words in Russian into it, while Erwin’s eyes focus on his special customer. And when they do, his knees begin to quiver. Because Michail is even bigger than Erwin himself, almost towering over the tattooist, who is not used to people being taller than him. He’s shirtless already, and the view is absolutely intimidating just as much as it is stunning. And arousing – because Michail Sacharow is not what you would call ‘well-built’, he’s ‘muscled as fuck’. In fact, the man has muscles in places Erwin even didn’t know they could exist at.

Michail Sacharow has pectorals bigger than Erwin’s huge hand, and his abs look as hard as stone. His bulky upper body is covered by dark hair, a contrast to his shaggy blond bangs, but matching the neatly trimmed moustache and beard. His arms are thick and veiny, his eyes dark, a deep shade of brown, and the gaze focussed on Erwin is cold like Russian vodka.

Even if Erwin didn’t know the man is a murderer, he would be able to tell that this man is dangerous just from his looks – and his groin stirs. Because Erwin likes dangerous men, likes _this_ man, likes Michail Sacharow. And if the mafia member would tell him to get down on his knees to suck the man’s most definitely huge, leaking cock, Erwin Danger Boner Smith would _not_ hesitate.

“I’m Erwin,” he finally manages to introduce himself, after they have been staring at each other for what felt like eternity, when it becomes evident that Erwin has been leering at the other man just a little too much. “Nice to meet you, Michail.”

They shake hands and the giant man’s palm is equally big, his grip firm; makes Erwin wonder what it would feel like to be grabbed by both of those hands. At his naked hips. With Michail Sacharow thrusting into him with full force, making all those bulky muscles jump in the process.

“Please, you can already lie down while I prepare myself,” Erwin says politely, motioning towards the padded client chair turned into a horizontal position by Hange, his piercer having also done all other preparations so that Erwin can immediately. And he’s making sure to ignore the slight throbbing of his groin as his gaze wanders down Sacharow’s magnificent body once again. “Do make yourself comfortable. Any wishes regarding the music?”

Michail doesn’t move, keeps looking at Erwin with that cold, intimidating and very sexy gaze. It makes Erwin nervous, just as much as it arouses him. But foremost nervous. “Is something wrong?” he dares to ask, stopping on his way towards the sink. The man’s eyes dark draw him in again. Then, Michail Sacharow speaks for the first time to the blond tattoo artist.

“Mike,” he says, “you can call me Mike.”

And that’s all _Mike_ says during their first late night appointment.

“How was it?” Hange asks with a big, fat grin on their lips when Erwin enters his shop a week later in the afternoon, having spent the last few days at home instead in Bali, wanting to have a holiday nonetheless instead of going back to work immediately. His employee is wiggling their brows in that obscene fashion again. “Bet you got hard with such a fine specimen under your hands, huh?” Hange teases.

Erwin rolls his eyes. But he can’t stop himself from grinning. “Fuck, Sacharow _is_ a hot piece of meat,” he agrees, thinking of the man’s naked, firm back, how his hot skin felt underneath his hands.

Hange cackles. “I knew you’d like him.”

“Stop chit-chattering and get your ass over here, Erwin,” Levi Ackerman, Kenny’s nephew and Erwin’s right hand man, busts into their small talk with his usual scowl on his face. “I’ve been waiting for you the whole fucking day, asshole,” he addresses his boss who follows Levi into one of their customer rooms, taking a seat in the tattoo chair, after taking off his t-shirt.

“Stop complaining, I’m not even late for our appointment, Levi.”

The younger man scoffs. “Fucking wanker of a client cancelled last minute on me,” he explains grimly, “I’ve been sitting around uselessly for the past one a half fucking hours.”

“You could have called.”

“You wouldn’t have picked up anyway, dickhead. Bet you slept until ten minutes ago.” Erwin grins daftly. Because it’s almost true. Levi tuts. “Bastard.” Then, the shorter man rolls over to Erwin on his stool, to finally start a new tattoo on his boss.

Levi is the only one Erwin allows to put permanent art on his body, just like Levi only lets Erwin tattoo him. And the man’s lean body is almost completely covered in ink. Levi has different types of dragons on his chest, a black feline on his calf, his arms are full of skulls and other human bones with tribal designs woven in between, a demon with black wings on his back, a deer head underneath. He even has the ancient Egyptian Goddess Isis with her wings spread to either side of throat and neck. Erwin remembers every single one tattoo he put on Levi’s body. Just like Levi probably remembers all the works he put on his boss’s skin – which is full of ink, too.

There’s the giant eagle with black and white wings spread across his whole, cleanly shaven chest, with sharp claws and a powerful expression. A snarling black wolf in a dark, grim forest covers the whole of Erwin’s back. A realistic, growling zombie with a half rotten face graces his right calf, taken straight out of a horror movie, while the left calf is covered by a bunch of intertwined, elegant snakes. A grim reaper with a massive scythe, one of Levi’s best designs, takes up his whole right arm, while Erwin’s left arm is covered by a mix of beautiful, black ravens and abstract designs which Levi is going to continue today. It’s detailed work.

“You changed your hair colour,” Erwin remarks while Levi prepares the machine.

“Wow, you noticed,” he deadpans – because his hair, styled in an undercut with his top strands tied into a short ponytail, is bright green.

“I liked purple better,” Erwin comments, smirking when Levi scoffs.

“Fuck purple, and fuck you.”

The second appointment with Michail Sacharow takes place almost at midnight. The man was supposed to come by at nine in the evening, but just five minutes after walking into his shop, Erwin receives a message from Boris that Michail would be late because he had to take care of some stuff.

Erwin doesn’t even want to know what kind of stuff Mike needed to handle. The man shows up three hours late with blood on his elegant, navy blue shirt, some red spatters on his throat and face, and as Mike takes of his shirt and washes up at the sink as proposed by Erwin, the latter realises that his special Russian client doesn’t have any wounds – the blood going down the drain evidently not being his.

And as much as this should terrify him, it also entices him.

“Were you born here in Germany or on Russian grounds?” Erwin tries to start a conversation with the man, who is lying down on his chest, while trying very hard not to stare at Mike’s big, firm ass, nearly begging him to be cupped and slapped and groped, making arousal uncurl inside of Erwin; as does the sight of his client’s thick, athletic thighs that could totally crush him to death.

There’s a moment of silence following the tattoo artist’s enquiry, in which Erwin wonders whether he’s asked the wrong question, or whether it is wrong altogether to ask the man anything, until his special client answers curtly: “Saint Petersburg.”

“Ah, just like Putin,” Erwin jokes, and receives no response, biting his tongue and cursing at himself to just shut the fuck up before he says something extremely stupid or offensive – especially when it comes to politics.

Usually, a lot of customers love talking to him while getting their tattoo done. Some because they are simply talkative, others because they need some distraction from the pain. Then, there are people more like Mike. The quiet ones. Some due to simple shyness, others wanting to fully focus on the pain of the needle breaking their skin, seeing this even as a sort of cleansing ritual, something meditative.

Erwin has no idea whether Michail Sacharow belongs to this category of men, he can only state that the man takes the pain stoically, if he even feels it at all. Not one sigh, not one moan or painful hiss escapes Sacharow’s mouth as Erwin begins to work on a first details of the giant, dangerous bear – he just lies there, being completely silent, enduring every sting without even flinching; and Erwin has the hardest of times keeping his groin under control, marvelling at all the firm muscles of Mike’s back, fighting the urge to run his fingers over the scars he’s going to cover up with ink, wondering what caused them.

He dares to ask during their third appointment, the vodka he drank with Boris while waiting for Michail to arrive late after another last minute ‘errand’ making the blond man act a tiny bit bolder in the presence of the Russian murderer.

“Knife?” he asks, as he sanitizes the biggest scar spreading across the man’s broad, hard, lower back.

“Machete.”

“Oh,” Erwin hums, shivering and finishing his preparations, once more letting his gaze roam shamelessly and very unprofessionally over the whole of Sacharow’s body, pausing at that trained ass. “Must have hurt a lot.”

Mike doesn’t respond and they spend the following hours in the usual silence, listening to the constant whirr of the tattoo machine and the faint Industrial Metal music playing from the loudspeakers.

Erwin gets used to it. To the fact that except a ‘hello’ there isn’t any talk expected to happen between them – and he’s fine with it. Appreciates their time nonetheless, because Michail Sacharow is the pure definition of eye candy, and Erwin transforms into a sugar-starved man whenever the Russian enters the room.

“He’s waiting for you in the back,” Levi informs him one night as Erwin comes in after hours for another session with Mike. “I’ve prepared everything, you can start right away.”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Erwin sighs tiredly, because he didn’t get enough sleep the past few nights.

“I’m gonna close up, see you later. And enjoy,” Levi bids his goodbye and gives his boss a naughty wink before he walks out, making Erwin roll his eyes slightly, while also grinning to himself.

It’s another one of those silent nights, the artwork on the broad and muscled back of the quiet man growing while Erwin fights the urge to lean forward and plant wet kisses down Michail’s spine – and the thought that the mafia member would probably fucking castrate Erwin right on the spot for doing that makes him shiver uncomfortably, while it also arouses him.

Because he’s fucked up. Super, mega loco fucked up, as Hange would say.

That’s probably why Erwin does what he does and causes Mike to snap.

One night Michail excuses himself to go to the bathroom in the middle of their session. And just a few seconds after the man has left the room, his phone, placed on Erwin’s desk right next to the mobster’s gun, starts ringing.

“Mike?” Erwin calls out, but of course the man doesn’t hear him because the bathroom is all the way down the floor, further to the front of the shop. Erwin sighs, thinking that whoever is calling will just have to wait for the man to call him back. Then, the phone goes silent again, and Erwin relaxes.

Until it starts ringing again.

And it won’t stop.

And neither does Erwin’s stupid curiosity – because he also hasn’t looked at that gun up close yet and he really wants to, and maybe he can take a sneak peek at Mike’s phone because wallpapers and shit can tell you a lot about a person...?

Is it a hot woman? His girlfriend? Maybe even wife? Erwin hasn’t spotted a ring at least, but not everyone who is married wears one. Is it a hot man? Is it just a plain background? Black? And who is calling him right now?

Actually, Erwin has no idea why he’s doing that, but his feet are already taking him closer to his desk, gaze roaming over Mike’s gun. Erwin’s seen a lot of guns while working for the mafia. He still cannot tell them apart, has no idea about those weapons, cannot tell you which one is which. He just knows that he likes this gun – but probably because he knows it belongs to Mike.

…did he use it to kill the man or men for whose slaughter Baranow is gifting him the tattoo Erwin is working on right now?

A shiver runs down Erwin’s spine, carrying a portion of terror as well as faint arousal with it. And before he knows it, Erwin has Mike’s phone in his hand.

A guy saved as Jäger is trying to reach him him. The call stops after a few seconds and Erwin looks at the list of missed calls from the man, and just as he, driven by his damned curiosity, tries to unlock the phone, a big hand grabs his throat, the fingers cutting into his flesh, pressing down on his windpipe cutting off his air; and Erwin is so taken aback, he lets the phone drop to the floor.

Fear and panic shoot through his whole being as he instinctively looks up into the face of his attacker, into _Mike’s_ face contorted in anger, the man’s hauntingly dark eyes glaring at Erwin as the huge, muscled man pushes him against the concrete wall with easy, creating a loud thud, pain erupting at the back of Erwin’s skull as it is shoved against the hard surface, Mike’s massive body crowding him against the wall as he presses the barrel of the gun Erwin’s just admired against the tattoo artist’s temple.

“No one touches my things,” the man seethes, his voice deep and dark, Sacharow’s hot breath burning Erwin’s lips as he is full of dread, sheer fear making Mike’s grip around his sensitive throat even more intense, the steel of the gun barrel feeling ice cold against his skin – and suddenly Erwin Danger Boner Smith is hard as steel himself, because he _has_ a danger boner.

And that steel-hard danger boner is poking Michail Sacharow’s fucking massive and firm and lean thigh – and Erwin has no idea when he put both of his hands onto the man’s naked chest, but here they are, as if trying to push the man away from him. However, they aren’t applying any pressure, and the touch of Mike’s hairy, hard pectorals only heightens Erwin’s strange and extreme terror-paired arousal, and he can’t breathe, he fucking can’t breathe anymore and the man is going to fucking kill him right now, angered by Erwin’s actions, offended by the man’s erection pressing into his thigh and fuck, he hasn’t even properly said goodbye to—

Mike lets go of him, making Erwin start to choke, gasping for much needed air, both of his hands instantly massaging his mistreated throat as the gangster picks of his phone that has started ringing again, speaking in Russian, ignoring Erwin who is now frozen in place, who can’t move a single muscle because he’s so fucking scared and confused (and still totally aroused) as he’s looking at his dangerous client, hearing him speak that harsh and at the same time alluringly sounding foreign language.

“ _Da_ ,” Mike ends the call, the Russian word for ‘yes’, and then he just grabs his clothes and leaves the room, leaving Erwin behind who is still unable to move.

Erwin fears the next session, fears that he might have pissed Michail off so much the man might come back anytime to cut Erwin’s hand off that touched the man’s mobile phone, bringing Baranow along with him to end their deal – and possibly Erwin’s existence.

Of course, for anybody else it might have been nothing, touching another person’s phone (and getting aroused by that person touching you in a rough way…) – but Michail Sacharow isn’t just anybody. He’s a freaking _member of the Russian mafia_ who has just _killed_ someone important, earning freaking Aleksandr Baranow’s highest respect. Erwin has every fucking _right_ to be nervous.

Just as he has every fucking reason to be horny when Michail Sacharow enters the shop again at their scheduled appointment, acting as if nothing has happened, nodding curtly to signal a ‘hello’ to Erwin before taking off the top part of a very fine looking, pitch black suit, revealing his marvellous body to Erwin, who starts working on the man’s tattoo as quickly as possible, giving it his all, biting his tongue as to not to start a pointless one-sided conversation, serving Mike a chilled glass of vodka when he’s done and they are waiting for Boris to come pick the man up.

Erwin drinks one too and both men just listen to the music, not saying a word.

The tattoo artist feels relieved once Michail is gone. And he keeps up his ‘good behaviour’ throughout the rest of their sittings. Keeping his mouth shut, his dick flaccid, working diligently on the pristine token of respect. Until it’s finished. And it’s a masterpiece. One that Erwin would usually photograph and let Levi upload it to their website, share it on social media to attract more customers. But, of course, he doesn’t. Because this isn’t just any tattoo.

“It’s ready,” he says, putting the machine aside, applying a thin layer of ointment over Mike’s skin. “Wanna take a look at it before I cover it up?”

Mike gets up wordlessly and walks towards the desk to retrieve his phone. And Erwin’s absolutely confused when the man hands it to him, his face expressionless.

“Take a picture of it,” is all he says, the camera already activated, and Erwin swallows, nodding, his hands shaking a little as the man – a murderer, his mind repeats – passes the mobile to him, their fingers brushing against each other for a very short moment.

Erwin takes two and then quickly hands Mike the phone back; because he doesn’t want the man to think he would be doing anything else than taking the requested photograph with the device.

Michail doesn’t thank him, lets Erwin finish his job, giving Mike some more instructions as how to take care of the finished piece. And then, Sacharow is gone, and Erwin lets out a sigh full of… He’s not actually sure.

He’s definitely relieved, as he always is when one of the Russians has their last appointment, because those fuckers are dangerous, and it would definitely be better not to be involved with them. On the other hand he’s also somewhat bummed that he won’t be seeing that body anymore, won’t be able touch all those muscles, the hot skin, stare at that firm ass; and when he thinks about how Mike pressed him against the wall with all his weight, and put his gun to his head, he’s hard again. Laughing at himself.

Because he’s definitely super, mega loco fucked up.

A few weeks after Michail’s last appointment, Boris calls him again, and Erwin finds himself working another late shift. The man he is tattooing this time – giving him a tiger on the right shoulder for some kind of big break-in as the Russian gladly tells Erwin, bragging about his illegal deed – is obnoxious, and Erwin misses the peace and quiet he had with Mike. For a second he even considers asking Wassily about Michail. But he doesn’t.

Because he shouldn’t be involved with the mob more than he already is. It’s way too dangerous, Erwin knows. And nothing will come out of it. He knows.

He’s tired when he finally gets home, close to midnight, a sigh of relief as well as fatigue leaving his throat as he closes the door of his apartment, and when Erwin turns around, he lets out a loud scream – because out of fucking nowhere there’s a figure behind him, startling him, big and dark and close and what the—

“Mike…!” Erwin gasps in surprise and confusion, and he feels a shiver of pure terror grip him tightly as he looks into those dark eyes, boring into his, as his brain is trying to assess the situation. And the outcome is devastating, Erwin’s heart beating ferociously in his chest.

Michail Sacharow has broken into his flat. In the middle of the night. And this means that Erwin’s going to fucking _die_.

He feels it, fear and panic making it hard to the blond man to breathe, to think straight. He’s frozen in place, just like he was after the assault in the tattoo shop, and his heart skips a heavy beat when the Russian killer suddenly takes a step forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, and Erwin wonders whether the man will stab him with a knife, of machete, or put a bullet through his guts, his heart, and he lets out an embarrassing whimper, as the tall man doesn’t assault him with any weapon – _but his mouth_ ; grabbing Erwin’s face with both of his large hands, pressing Erwin's back against the door as he crashes their lips together in an instantly heated and powerful kiss.

One that totally blows Erwin’s mind.

One that makes his dick throb as all the withheld arousal is let out to rage through Erwin’s body, as if a dam had been blown up, making his balls prickle, want and lust mingled with the prevailing fear stirring deep in his gut as Michail uses all his strength to push Erwin against the hard wood of the entrance, caging him, pressing his big, thick leg between the blond’s thighs, pushing into his awakening cock, eliciting a gasp that passes right into his mouth as Mike shoves his tongue into Erwin’s cavity – and Erwin’s knees almost give out.

He lets the already discarded leather jacket fall onto the ground with a muffled thud, the next sound ringing in his ears being the tearing of fabric, as Michail’s hands suddenly drop down to his chest while he breaks their kiss, fingers grasping the material of Erwin’s t-shirt, ripping and shredding the black cotton with one swift and strong movement, laying the man’s chest and shoulders bare, his whole upper body.

Air tickles Erwin’s nipples as he’s stripped harshly like that, extreme desire rearing up inside him as Sacharow’s hot, big hands slide down his sides, the killer’s fingernails pushing into Erwin’s flesh, leaving an excruciatingly arousing trail across his skin before stopping at his waist, grabbing it to pull him further against his own body – and a gasp leaves the tattooist’s mouth as he feels it: Michail Sacharow’s hard, big dick, pushing against his abdomen. Like a blade of a sword. Or machete.

Erwin trembles, arousal sweeping through his body, erasing every sane thought, as Mike uses even more force to press him against the hard wood, press their bodies together, their erections, his hands moving even lower, slipping between the door and Erwin’s ass, cupping the cheeks through Erwin’s black jeans – and that’s when Erwin knows that he has been wrong.

Because Mike isn’t here to kill him. Michail Sacharow is here to _fuck_ him.

“Oh fuck,” Erwin moans as his brains totally shuts off and his raging desire, his frivolous nature, the masochistic nymphomaniac takes over full control of his emotions and body, makes Erwin fling his arms around the big, muscled man’s neck, eagerly planting a wet kiss onto the mouth that has already claimed his – and Mike kisses back with just as much ardour, those wide hands of his kneading Erwin’s globes shamelessly while their lips lock and their tongues mingle once again.

Heated. Desperate. Raw.

“Fuck,” Erwin breathes against Mike’s lips, the man’s moustache tickling his mouth in a peculiar arousing way, as they part shortly, only to begin kissing, licking the other’s mouth again in a slightly different angle, their noses bumping together as they move their heads – and Mike’s grip on Erwin’s body increases, tightens, his hands sliding even further down, grabbing the back of Erwin’s thighs, lifting him up off the ground as if the big man weighed nothing, making him wrap his legs around the Russian’s big waist on instinct, looping his calves together, squeezing him back with his legs, immediately feeling the man’s hard cock push against his ass.

“Oh fuck,” it once again pours out of Erwin’s mouth before Mike claims it again. Roughly. And without realising what he is doing Erwin begins to rub himself against Sacharow’s hard body while the mafia member continues to kiss him almost brutally, as if trying to mark every millimetre inside of Erwin’s mouth, making their teeth clink together, forcing a moan out of Erwin’s throat as he bites down harshly on the man’s lower lip, only to push his tongue back inside a second later to find Erwin’s, slide over it, encircle it.

The blond tattoo artist is so blown away by the kiss he doesn’t even register that Mike has started to move, carrying him through his apartment. Only realises they aren’t in the hallway anymore when the man throws him onto the bed. And even then Erwin hasn’t really time to think about it. Because he is instantly being distracted by a sight so sexy, he releases another uncontrolled sound of pleasure. Because Mike yanks his own t-shirt over his head, impatiently, throwing it onto the ground, and Erwin’s allowed to stare at it again – the raw masculinity of Michail Sacharow’s upper body.

It’s pure bliss to watch this – the way the well-trained muscles move in Mike’s chest and arms, the thick sinew of his neck and shoulders, as he unbuckles his belt while staring at Erwin with dark and oh so hungry eyes, the deep and cutting gaze chasing down the shrillest of shivers down the tattooist’s spine, something wicked stirring in the pit of his stomach, more of this intoxicating arousal churning through Erwin’s veins as the nymphomaniac inside of him tugs at his hands, makes them act, hurried and rushes, unzipping thy fly of his fucking, restricting jeans. Because Erwin wants to be naked _this second,_ needs to expose himself to Mike, just like the Russian hunk is exposing his naked body to Erwin, the latter watching in fascination as Sacharow does what Erwin’s mirroring – taking off his jeans.

“Oh fuck…” Erwin pants as he witnesses Mike’s trousers falling onto the floor, eyes locked to that engorged cock pressing against the fabric of his pitch black, elegant briefs in an impressive, bulge; as if trying to break out of the thin prison. And then Erwin pants again. “Oh _fuck_ …!” Because Mike’s fingers move underneath the waistband of the top brand briefs and he yanks them down – and Erwin’s eyes widen as Mike’s cock juts free, ready for him.

It's a huge, thick and thus wonderful specimen of a manhood, standing proud and tall, a big, prominent vein running along the underside of the massive, throbbing shaft, the foreskin already skidded back, precum oozing from the angry tip of the bulbous, slightly purple head, the thick base and huge balls framed by dark, curly, manly hair.

Arousal storms though Erwin upon this magnificent view, hot with the need to fuck – or rather: to _be_ fucked. A need to take this monstrosity into his mouth. And the intensity of this desire so overpowering that it makes the blond release a wanton, desperate whimper, as he yanks his own pants and underwear down in a frenzy, freeing his own leaking length bobbing back against his abdomen, with Sacharow standing naked at the edge of the bed, still not uttering a single word, just staring at Erwin.

Like a starved beast.

Eyes transfixed on Erwin’s piercing, an apadravya, passing vertically through his glans, before they move to roam over the man’s tattoos. But Erwin doesn’t let Michail enjoy the sight for too long – because he needs that dick inside of him.

In a hurry, Erwin rips open the top drawer of the nightstand retrieving the bottle of lube and a condom, before jumping back onto the bed an all fours, crawling towards the edge of the mattress, eyes glued to Michail Sacharow’s monster cock twitching right in front of his face before he grabs it at the base and takes it into his greedy mouth. And the sound travelling up the Russian mafia member’s throat, as Erwin’s tongue moves down his shaft, makes Erwin tremble all fucking over – because that groan is so deep, so manly, so sexy, it nearly drives him insane and makes lust freaking bubble in his belly. In his own dick.

Erwin begins to suck Sacharow’s cock. He curls his tongue around the big and wet head, tasting Mike’s pre-seed, a mix of bitter and sour; fucking perfect. Every cell of his body comes alive as Mike releases another strained groan under Erwin’s lewd lip ministrations, as he bobs his head up and down, applying just the right amount of pressure, warmth and saliva – and then the man suddenly catches Erwin’s blond hair, the big fingers tangling in the soft thickness Erwin’s so proud of. Sacharow pulls it taut and the slight pain, the awareness of the man’s masculine strength, makes Erwin gasp in lust, his sound muffled by the huge cock stuffing his mouth.

The big and strong hand is pushing Erwin further onto the stiff erection, the big vein pulsating against Erwin’s tongue, the cockhead pressing against his tonsils, making Erwin choke slightly, his whole body stirring as the solid meat is taking his breath away, more of his loco arousal raging through his veins, the bubbling turning into a boiling as slight panic of being suffocated makes the masochist within the blond man rejoice – and Erwin searches for the tube of lube blindly, finally finding it right next to his right knee, struggling to open it to coat his fingers with the love gel, his hands shaking as Mike keeps his head pressed firmly against his groin, his huge cock slipping deeper down the blond’s throat, Erwin’s nose pressed against Sacharow’s coarse pubic hair, his breath completely cut off as the man fucks his mouth; and it’s great, until the tattooist begins to gag extremely, not able to draw even the tiniest bit of air, more of his desperate chocking sounds filling the bedroom as he struggles, trying to pull back, his heartbeat in a frenzy because they haven’t talked about any kind of safewords and signals, haven’t talked at all actually, the amount of panic increasing – and Erwin’s dick throbbing nonetheless.

Because he’s super fucking mega loco.

And finally, as Erwin’s sure he is about to freaking pass out, Mike’s grip on his hair lessens, and he allows Erwin to slip his mouth off his cock, watching him silently as the tattoo artists gasps for air, coughing – and finally coating his shaking fingers with the lube.

Mike still doesn’t say a word when Erwin looks up at him, his face wet with saliva and precum, but also with little tears caused by the strain of being chocked, his lips lightly swollen – and Mike’s gaze is intimidating just as much as it is absolutely fucking hot. And dangerous.

The criminal’s dark eyes almost look black right now, inhuman, the bedroom only illuminated by the full moon, and Erwin swallows, arousal sizzling in his groin. He, too, chooses not to say anything, isn’t able to form words. Erwin just acts, a puppet to his own, weird lust. And the moment he takes Michail Sacharow’s stiff cock back into his slutty mouth, Erwin reaches behind himself – and begins to finger himself open for the gangster.

Soon, Erwin finds himself drooling, his own spit mixed with more of Mike’s precum flowing down the outside of his throat, the inside being filled with the man’s thick cock, moving in and out of his mouth just like Erwin’s three fingers are moving in and out of his asshole, prodding at his prostate, making Erwin moan around Michail’s blood-filled monster, the man’s hand still tangled in his hair, pulling at the blond strands in a possessive nature that spurs Erwin on, the man’s cock throbbing.

Mike’s sudden actions nearly knock him off his feet, though.

Without any warning, the strong, tough man’s fingers fist further into Erwin’s hair, pulling at the blond strands, ripping some out in the process as he lifts the man’s head up, the mobster’s hard cock sliding out of Erwin’s abused mouth – and Mike’s eyes are even darker than before, his gaze even more dangerous. A mix of sensual and threatening.

Absolute perfection in Erwin’s insane world.

Then, just as this thought crosses the tattoo artist’s mind, Mike uses both of his hands to twist Erwin around, dragging him by his hair, manoeuvring by his shoulder, pushing him into the middle of the bed as he himself climbs on top of it, eliciting a moan from Erwin, another pang of arousal shooting through the whole of his core as Mike pushes him face down into the mattress, the man’s body colliding with Erwin’s – Mike’s thick, leaking cock pushing against Erwin’s ass.

“Oh fuck…” Erwin moans, or intends to moan, because with his face burrowed in the sheets it comes out as wanton gibberish.

Mike grunts. Then, the man’s hand leave Erwin’s body, and the blond is confused in his horny haze.

Slowly, as nothing happens during the next ten seconds, Erwin pushes himself up with both of his hands to be back an all fours, and as he turns his head around cautiously to look at the Russian murderer, to see what is going on, he witnesses Mike rolling the provided condom onto his swollen cock – and that sight makes Erwin feel dizzy and all his abdominal muscles contract in a fit of hot arousal. It’s then that their gazes lock again – and the viciousness in Mike’s dark eyes drives Erwin wild.

“Ffff—”

He doesn’t get to finish his curse; Mike seizes Erwin’s head and shoulder and pushes him face first back into the mattress. He holds him down with all his manly strength, forcing Erwin’s chest and dick to collide with the sheets, keeps him there with hands that hurt people, kill people, pull the trigger of a gun, wield a knife, a machete – and Erwin moans, his voice full of wicked desire, as Mike pivots his body so that he is completely on top of him, Michail Sacharow’s whole, impressive weight pinning Erwin to the bed.

And it feels as if a ton of bricks was pressing Erwin’s body down.

“Fffuck…” Erwin breathes into the mattress as Mike’s hot mouth moves along the back of his neck, over his nape, biting into his shoulder as the massive man grinds his steel-hard, condom-covered cock against Erwin’s ass, slipping into his crack, gliding over the stretched hole. “…fffuuuuck…”

Arousal is thrumming in Erwin’s veins, his caged dick throbbing, a sensation near to painful, one that makes his skin tingle, his almost unbearable lust a sizzling heat in his abdomen, spreading through the whole of his lower body, throughout his whole length.

The pressure pinning Erwin to the bed momentarily lessens a flash of reawakening confusion and disappointment passes through the tattoo artist – only to be replaced with burning desire and weird giddiness as Mike grabs his hair again with his right hand, the man’s left arm reaching under Erwin’s hips as he lifts him onto his knees and Erwin finds himself face held down in the sheets with his ass in the air.

Mike spreads his legs further apart by pushing his knee against Erwin’s thigh, and the latter complies, opening himself up in another way for the man, obscenely presenting his puckering hole to Sacharow who repositions himself behind him now, suddenly grabbing Erwin’s left wrist, twisting his arm up and behind his back, capturing the tattoo artist, rendering him immobile, holding him in place – and then, Mike’s fantastic, huge cock pushes into Erwin.

The penetration is heaven. It’s also hell. Because Mike’s cock is thicker than Erwin’s three fingers. The man also doesn’t ease into the man’s asshole, doesn’t wait. He isn’t careful – he just fucking rams it in. All at once. And Erwin cries out at the pain erupting from him sphincter being forced open like that, his voice a muffled mess, his drool seeping into the mattress as he feels the man’s balls slap against his own when Mike’s fully inside of him; a matter of one, single, fucking second, Erwin’s cry of agony ending on a deep, wanton note – because Sacharow’s monster is shoved with full force against his prostate. And that just makes Erwin see fucking stars. Fucking _stars_.

“Oh God…!” he pants – and he has no time to get used to that abomination turned to lust-filled flesh penetrating his guts; because Mike starts moving straightaway. Starts fucking Erwin. Hard.

The wooden bed hits the wall with every powerful thrust Michail Sacharow delivers, the loud thuds in rhythm with the sound of skin slapping against skin as the Russian gangster slams his rock-hard dick into Erwin’s hole, the man’s monster cock drilling into Erwin, whose muffled screams and moans complete the lewd tune resonating in the bedroom.

Mike’s grip on his wrist, his other hand moved from the back of his head into Erwin’s heated neck, choking him slightly, add to Erwin’s desire, his dick throbbing like crazy. He doesn’t even register that his free hand has moved to his groin, and he begins to stroke himself, trying to match the ruthless movements of Mike’s hips – the man’s deep grunts and groans fuelling Erwin’s desire.

Until Erwin can’t take it anymore. Until it all becomes too much and his orgasm rolls through him like a tsunami, flooding and obliterating everything with sheer, untamed force – just like Mike takes him with sheer, untamed force. The thought alone makes Erwin release the most obnoxious sound of lust against the sheets as his comes all over his hand, and belly and the bed underneath his rocking body, his climax a tremendous earthquake inside of him that has him thrusting back his hips blindly, uncontrollably, Mike’s dick pushing even deeper inside of him, the man fucking him even harder now, the grip of his fingers so strong, it actually hurts Erwin.

But he doesn’t care. Can’t care. Because he is still orgasming so harshly, his dick spurting the last droplets of his seed, as an elongated groan, a clear sound of rapt lust leaves Sacharow’s throat – and the man goes insanely wild, slams into Erwin so quickly, the blond wouldn’t be able to keep up with counting the thrusts of the mobster’s wide hips, Erwin’s whole body spasming as the pleasure of his prostate being abused like that keeps coming and coming while Erwin has nothing to shoot anymore, his dick feeling weird, a sizzling and tickling sensation close to having to pee and then again completely different.

“Fffffuuuuuuck…” Erwin whines as the man’s speed picks up even more – until, suddenly, Mikes stiffens and his fingernails cut into Erwin’s skin while the man releases an elongated, deep, dark, sexy moan as he, finally, climaxes, too.

A shiver runs down the whole of Erwin’s back as Mike collapses on top of him, the man’s hot breath nearly churning the man’s ear – and that’s the last sensation Erwin’s over-stimulated body experiences before the man actually blacks out, falling into a deep, satisfied slumber.

He wakes up three hours later to an all too familiar scoff, and the sensation of small hands prying his still very naked ass cheeks apart. “I fucking knew Sacharow’s dick would almost rip your ass into pieces. Your asshole is so fucking loose, it looks as if you’d _just_ taken out one of our monster dildos,” Levi says – Kenny Ackerman’s nephew, Erwin’s right hand man in the tattoo shop.

And his lawfully wedded husband.

“L-Levi…!” Erwin mumbles, instantly awake by this pleasant surprise – because his partner wasn’t supposed to be back home for another two days, busy on a business trip, representing the shop at two tattoo conventions. “What are you doing here?” Erwin asks, his lips already pulled into a warm smile as he turns around to take a look at his husband in their bedroom, now illuminated by the dim light of one of their nightstand lamps, his whole body aching slightly due to the rough treatment received by Michail Sacharow.

The first thing Erwin notices is Levi’s new hair colour. Or rather his old hair colour: it’s back to purple, the shade Erwin preferred – and he grins daftly. And then he doesn’t grin anymore, because he’s too dumbfounded to do so, because he realises that Levi isn’t just shirtless, as he thought at first glance, but completely naked. His cock hard, as he climbs on top of the bed, on top of Erwin, whom he gently twists to lie on his back.

Levi brings their lips and naked bodies together, and Erwin immediately melts into the kiss, carrying the promise of sex. Because even if they have an open marriage, enabling Erwin to have sex with whomever he wants – or whomever Levi chooses for him, to either fuck his blond husband or be fucked by him or join them in a threesome when they have their usual night out at one of their favourite swingers clubs – making out with his husband will always be the best thing for Erwin.

Their tongues drag across one another, their piercings clicking together, their lips decorated with more of the silver studs and rings parting with a loud and moist smack, Levi’s appreciative hum chasing a nice shiver down Erwin’s spine. “I skipped the sightseeing I had initially planned,” the younger man finally answers his husband’s question, “I wanted to see you. I missed you. And your asshole.”

Erwin chuckles, wraps his arms tightly around the man’s body, and Levi kisses him again. Slowly. Sensually. “How did you know it was Sacharow?” the blond asks after, the question suddenly crossing his mind.

Levi huffs out a quiet laugh. “May I remind you we have a fucking camera at our door, taking pictures of whoever is in front of it or casually letting himself in – also known as breaking in – like Sacharow did.”

Erwin blinks, suddenly remembering that he was so pestered about receiving notifications from the app about all the movement in front of their door, people passing by it every day, that he deactivated them and forgot all about the app. “Weren’t you afraid he was going to kill me?”

Levi snickers. “Nah,” he then says, “I spoke to him through the camera app– remember, it has a voice communication function? – and he told me he just wants to fuck you.”

“And you believed him?”

“Erwin,” Levi states calmly, running his knuckles down his husband’s face in a gentle caress. He’s smiling softly. “The way this man has been staring at you every time he came to the shop would have actually been enough to understand that he wanted to get into your pants.”

“R-really…?” Erwin mutters, confusion infiltrating his mind.

Levi rolls his eyes, snickering. “You’re an oblivious fuck,” the man with purple hair tells him then in a warm tone, full of adoration despite the vulgar words used. Which is typical for Levi. “And that’s exactly why you let _me_ choose the men to fuck you,” he reminds him in a sultry tone, biting Erwin’s bottom lip playfully, making the blond chuckle lightly, his chest flooded by a comfortable warmth as he ponders for the hundredth time probably how lucky he is to have a partner like Levi.

Their relationship is built on trust. And Erwin trusts Levi with his life. There is no jealousy – because there are no secrets between them. Erwin knows of every man Levi has ever slept with since being with him, while Levi knows of every fuck Erwin’s had. Although their favourite thing about the open marriage is the experiences they share together.

Erwin loves Levi watching him getting railed by another guy. Sometimes, their third for the night fucks Erwin while sucking his husband off. And sometimes Levi fucks the guy who is fucking Erwin. They love evenings like that, experimenting together, love one another. Deeply. And both men firmly believe that they will never fall in love with one of their sex partners. Because that’s what they solely are: people to have sex with. Nothing less, but definitely nothing more. That’s why they chose to wed one another, have been married for six years now, started going out when Erwin was in the middle of his twenties, Levi being six years younger.

“I love you,” Erwin mumbles against Levi’s lips, who is kissing him chastely and lazily, while he is not so lazy when it comes to the movement of his hips – because his tiny but fierce husband is grinding slowly but tenaciously against him, getting Erwin hard again.

Levi smiles down at him, his hands massaging Erwin’s shoulders lightly as the blond looks into his partner’s eyes, admiring his pale skin, the tattoo covering his throat – and all the silver rings and studs on his heavily pierced face that make him look hot and dangerous, badass. Just like Erwin likes it.

Levi has three rings going through the end of both eyebrows. Just like Erwin, he has a septum and a bridge, a little ring also going through his right nostril. Located below the septum and right above the lip lies the man’s Medusa piercing – but Levi also has Snake bites. And he got the cheek piercings done together with Hange. He also got a side-cheek piercing.

Erwin loves every single one – just like he loves every single tattoo he put on Levi’s body. On his husband’s body. Because even if he ‘shares’ it with other men, it will always be Erwin’s only. Just like his body will always belong to Levi.

“Can I fuck you? Or has the Russian exhausted you?” the man asks huskily, once more biting into Erwin’s bottom lip in a playful manner.

Erwin’s groin stirs at those soft but sultry words, and his hands instinctively move down to cup Levi’s firm ass lightly – because after their tattoo shop the gym is Levi’s second home and Erwin’s personal grumpy gremlin is ripped as fuck. Maybe not as ripped as Michail Sacharow, but Erwin doesn’t give a flying fuck about that. Levi will always stand above anyone else. That’s what Erwin’s groin thinks, too – his cock awakening and pushing against Levi’s naked body.

“Please…” Erwin whispers before Levi starts kissing him deeply.

He takes him slowly. Gently. A total contrast to the rough fuck with Sacharow. Levi’s looking into Erwin’s face the whole time, as he slips in and out of him, the man’s right hand wrapped around Erwin’s cock, stroking him tenderly in the rhythm of his affectionate thrusts, the fingers of his left fondling with Erwin’s nipple piercing – and Erwin’s doing the same with Levi’s. Because the filigree silver rings going through their sensitive buds aren’t just piercings that feel good when played with – they are their weddings bands. The token of their love. Their trust. They had Hange do it on their big day, and the crazy piercer was crying when doing it because they were so happy for them.

Erwin experiences another deep orgasm rippling through his core, making his body arch up, making him call out his husband’s name, drunken on lust and love.

“Levi… Levi! Oh God, _Levi_ …!”

He’s almost asleep when Levi cleans his entrance, wiping away his cum before snuggling up to the big blond who is totally exhausted by now.

“Hey,” Levi whispers coarsely into Erwin’s ear.

“…huh?” the tired and absolutely satisfied man manages to utter with the last of his strength.

“I love you, too.”

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I had so much fun with this, and I hope you didn't mind that little plot twist at the end ;) If you enjoyed this, let me know! Comments/feedback makes my day <3


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